


If I Lose Myself

by justbygrace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Pining, Politics, Presidency, Secret Service - Freeform, Slow Build, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is the United States' first openly gay President & Dean Winchester is the head of his Secret Service detail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Time to Begin, Isn't It?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This Photoset](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/24256) by barty-has-the-tardis. 



> The working title comes from the OneRepublic song by the same name.  
> The absolutely beautiful header was made by Tumblr user cliffnotesofanerd & I highly, highly recommend you go check out their other fabulous work!

 

 

If there is anything Dean Winchester has learned in the past 5 years it's that being in the Secret Service is definitely not as cool as it appears to be in movies. In fact, if it weren't for the pay grade and that he got to work in the same general department as his brother, he might even consider going back to homicide. If they ever let him resign. Which seems unlikely. Especially considering how his Unit Chief has decided that Agent Dean Winchester is the next best thing since apple pie (Barnes' words, not Dean's) and has upgraded him.

As of, Dean checked his watch, one hour, twelve minutes, and twenty-seven seconds ago, Unit Chief Pamela Barnes had called him into her office and informed him of the promotion. Because that's how things are done around here. You don't get offered promotions, you get informed of them.

"You're the Special Agent in Charge of President-elect Novak's Presidential Protection Division."

Honestly, what do you even say to that? (Besides the totally obvious, "Yes, ma'am!"?) He was recruited at the ripe age of 24 by the legendary Director of the Secret Service, Bobby Singer himself, after finally putting to rest Topeka's most prolific serial killer. Dean had barely had time to congratulate himself on a job well done (and was just looking forward to a cold beer and finally getting a good night's sleep) before he was suddenly shaking hands with a gruff man in flannel who looked a hybrid between someone's Grandpa and a starring character on Duck Dynasty. The next thing he knew he was agreeing to pack up his life and move halfway across the country to the Washington, D.C. field office and work as part of the Uniformed Division. The only consolation to patrolling the White House grounds (besides, I mean, the White House grounds, hello!) was that Singer had recruited Sam to work as a computer analyst. It had taken two and a half years before Dean was assigned to be the back-up to the back-up to the then-SAIC and another two years to work his way up to the actual back-up.

And then Anna Milton lost the re-election to Castiel Novak. Which is why (among other reasons, including, but not limited to, the incident with the Bulgarian Ambassador which resulted in four broken ribs and two months hospital leave, but a very grateful Bulgarian Ambassador) Dean was suddenly the SAIC to the first openly gay President-elect. Because of course he was. Dean wasn't even sure he voted for the guy. (Let the record show he hadn't voted for Anna either; there had been some inital attraction there, but there was nothing like following her around for four years to uproot all such feelings. She was definitely not all she was cracked up to be or all she pretended to be on national television.) It's not that Dean was homophobic, because he absolutely was not. His nearly two year relationship with Eliot in Topeka had obviously proved that one, it's just that with the country in its current half-LGBTQ-friendly/half-LGBTQ-they-should-all-burn-in-hell, protecting Castiel Novak was going to be that much more difficult.

But at the moment he had more important things to worry about. Unit Chief Barnes had given him three hours to put together a team of four (from a pool of 25), brief them, grab his go-bag, and catch a jet to Chicago, Illinois to meet the President-elect for the first time. And breathe a fervent prayer somewhere in there that he wouldn't screw this up from the start. Because four years is a very, very long time to be someone's constant shadow.

\--------

If there is anything Castiel Novak has learned in the past 18 months it's that running for President is a lot more stressful than he had ever anticipated it being. And that was the true understatement of the century. Sure, running for Mayor of Chicago and then Governor of Illinois was stressful. But not like this stressful. Not like going through every decision and indescretion since kindergarten stressful. There had been quite a few moments that Castiel seriously despaired of ever making it through and most of those moments were directly linked to his twin brother Gabriel. The things that man did! Castiel had set his sights on politics in fifth grade and had never looked back. Everything he had done from that point on was weighed on a giant scale swinging between This Truly Doesn't Matter & No One Will Elect Me If I Choose This Option. Gabriel had set his sights on becoming the Single Most Obnoxious Human In the Western Hemisphere and had never looked back.

Pairing with Fergus Crowley, the shrewd Senator from California was a decision that Castiel had come under a lot of heat for. But it wasn't one he regretted. At least not every single day, maybe once a week. Castiel had chosen Crowley for several reasons but the top two were his sharp understanding of politics (he had risen through the ranks faster than any other political figure in 15 years) and his complete opposite personality. Where Castiel's formal demeanor made the meet-and-greets hell and his popularity ratings see-saw, Crowley's calm "Hello, Citizens" was one of the things that had pushed Novak/Crowley 2012 to the very top. And they truly did balance each other out. Castiel had kicked Anna Milton's ass in the debates (in the shocked words of several well-known TV anchors) and Crowley and Adam Milligan had...well, that debate was something the history books would be trying to understand for years to come.

Castiel had made sacrifices for this, many of them. And one of them was in choosing to remain single. Well, with the exception of a brief affair in college with a man with the unfortunate name of Balthazar and a love of v-neck shirts. And that affair had made headline news for three whole weeks. Three weeks! First Openly Gay President...it was a Big Thing and not the sort of Big Thing that Castiel had planned on running under. There were more important issues, financial issues, gun control issues, foreign policy issues. Why couldn't he be known for that? But no, it was by his sexuality. He had been met with extreme opposition since the beginning, but he was running against Anna Milton who was going to be remembered for her radical ideas, mismanagement of government funding, and several unconfirmed, but still highly possible psychotic breaks. Castiel's policies were just enough this side of conservative for the majority of right-wing Republicans to throw their hat in his ring, but the election had shown the highest percentage of third party voting in the history of Presidential voting.

But it was over and as of 2 am last night, he was officially the President-elect. Castiel heaved a sigh as he reached for another cup of coffee, his fifth for the morning in case anyone was counting. Which for the next four hours no one would. But in four hours, he was meeting his own particular special agent/bodyguard and then he wouldn't have five minutes to himself for the next four years (or eight, preferrably eight).

\--------

Dean grinned inwardly as he surveyed the four agents in front of him. This was the team. The security detail guarding Castiel Novak for the next four years. It hadn't been a particularly hard choice, but it did raise Barnes' eyebrows when he handed her the completed list. He was 99% sure he had chosen the four agents that had been thrown on the list by chance. But it didn't matter what she thought, only that she had signed off on it. And sign off she did. And so here he was, sitting in a jet 10,000 feet in the air (and when had he agreed to make flying a part of his every day job?) with this slight mismatch of agents. But Dean had faith in every one of them.

Benny Lafitte was the first. His personnel file was so secret it had more black-outs than actual words. Up until four hours ago, he was the leader of the Countersniper Support Unit. He was one of the deadliest shots in America and possibly a few other countries. Dean and Benny had been recruited within two weeks of one another and gone through training together. They had bonded, the mechanic-turned-Detective from Kansas and the soft-spoken Louisiana boy with a heart of gold and a gaze of steel. Despite the questionable rules on fraternizing (read: drinking on the rare weekend off) between units, Benny & Dean had found time to form a solid friendship.

Jo Harvelle was by far the youngest agent on the team. She had fought hard for everything she had achieved and heaven help anyone who stood between her and her goals. Dean had worked with Jo in the Uniformed Division and her no-holds-barred approach to everything she did had earned his complete respect. Jo refused to be pushed around by the mostly testosterone-filled unit she had worked for and was well on her way to promotion before Dean had discovered her name on his list that morning.

Garth Fitzgerald IV took some getting used to. For reasons known only to the higher-ups Garth had resigned from his dental practice in Missouri, applied to the Secret Service, and been accepted in the span of three weeks. His role in the greater Secret Service was the stuff of rumors, but he was well-known and generally well-liked and the few occasions Dean had needed to interact with him, he had definitely come through for him. Despite his barely 5' 7" frame, Garth knew how to get the job done and had one of the best track records in the Secret Service. Besides, Dean liked things a little crazy.

Charlie Bradbury was in a class all her own. Word on the street was that she had been recruited straight from high school after hacking into the Department of Homeland Security for a senior research paper. Why she hadn't ended up in the "Geek Squad" with Sam and his posse was something Dean was never entirely sure on, but definitely one he wasn't questioning. He had connected with Charlie from the word go and her name was the first he had chosen.

Dean nodded with satisfaction and closed his eyes against the slight turbulence. No need in letting the agents see their new team leader put off by the potential of freefalling to their deaths. He let his mind drift back to his conversation with Sam from that morning.

_"Dude, guess what?"_

_"You got promoted to being head of security for Novak." Sam's voice echoed back to him from the other end of the line._

_"Have I ever mentioned that I hate you? How do you even know that? I literally found out fifteen minutes ago."_

_"Does the term Technical Analyst mean anything to you? Anything at all?" Dean could practically hear the accompanying bitchface._

_"Yeah, it means you're a geek who gets paid a bunch of money to sit behind a computer all day."_

_"Maybe, but now I'm the geek who is in charge of a bunch of other geeks in charge of keeping you safe."_

_"What?"_

_"I got promoted too Dean. I'm leading your technical back-up team."_

_"Whoa! Seriously? That's awesome, Sammy!"_

_"Sam, it's Sam, Dean. I'm not a chubby 12 year old."_

_"Yeah, now you're an overgrown moose."_

_"Bitch."_

_"Jerk."_

Sam Winchester was the best little brother anyone could ask for and no one could convince Dean otherwise. Growing up in the backwoods of Kansas with a alcoholic single father was a lot of things, but easy wasn't one of them. But Sam had done alright with himself, his ridiculously genius testing levels helping out a lot. And just knowing that he was leading a Geek Squad (which included such notable names as Kevin Tran, Ash Miles, & Chuck Shurley) made Dean breathe that much easier. Which was good because the plane was starting to descend into the Chicago airspace and Dean had to divide his attention between not puking all over his good shoes and prepping himself to meet the President-elect in t-27 minutes.

\--------

Castiel paced the length of the hallway outside of acting-Governor Mills' chambers for the fifth time in fifteen minutes. It had been nearly 18 hours now since the last result had come in and he was still half expecting someone to tell him it was just a joke and could he please deal with the uprising of crime in downtown Springfield. But no, he was no longer the Governor. And he had two months to somehow compromise with Crowley enough to choose his Cabinet members and White House staff.

"There you are Novak." Speak of the devil himself, there he was.

"Crowley, I need five more minutes. Just five."

"Sorry, no can do mate. The press would like a word and you're meeting your security detail in five."

Oh yes, security detail. Somehow in the past three hours of hyperventilating about whether Michael Myers or Meg Masters would piss off the least amount of voting constituents (and could he twist Crowley's arm to going for Michael), Castiel had completely forgotten about that. "Fine. Lead the way. Or at least, point me in the general vicinity."

Crowley chuckled. "I can do you one better. They're just getting off the elevator."

Castiel glanced up just in time to see five people in dark suits, sunglasses, & earpieces exiting the elevator and swiftly making their way towards him. He rolled his eyes at Crowley and stepped forward slightly to meet the group. The man at the head of the group, the leader if Castiel was to hazard a guess, flipped off his sunglasses and extended his hand as they approached.

"Mr President-elect, I'm Agent Dean Winchester & I'm the head of your new security detail."

Castiel had to tilt his head back just slightly as he met a pair of green eyes. They sparkled with determination and perhaps a touch of hidden amusement.

"Pleasure to meet you, Agent Winchester."

Castiel barely listened to the agent as he introduced the rest of his team. He caught the fact that there were two men and two women and they looked a bit...unique, but most of his attention was focused on the Agent standing directly in front of him. He tuned back in just in time to hear Agent Winchester ("Dean") say, "...and we'll do a full security brief on the plane, but for now I understand you have a press conference to attend to."

Crowley caught his elbow at that, smiled at the agents, & directed them back towards the elevator. The only conscious thought in Castiel's mind was, "Well, this is not convenient."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from 'It's Time' by Imagine Dragons


	2. It's You & Me & All of the People

It had been two months. 67 days and 15 odd hours, if you really want to know the details. Not that Dean was actually keeping track, except that he totally was. You'd think that Dean would be over it by now, but he wasn't. In fact he was of the opinion that he would never be over it. But he was a professional, damn it. A professional who did not have a crush on the President-elect. Absolutely he did not. 

"Winchester? Angel is on the move." Benny's voice sounded in his ear. 

"Copy that. See you in five."

Giving Novak the code name Angel was a particularly entertaining move, in Dean's opinion. His team had disagreed, though Jo had just rolled her eyes and Benny had patted his back in commiseration. Apparently his team knew him better than he had previously thought. 

Thankfully their encounters thus far had been limited in nature. Novak and Crowley spent most of their time in meetings and Dean was more than happy to delegate to Jo or Garth the task of listening to the endless debates about which up-and-coming politician would make the best fit for God only knows what stupid political position. Hey, it's not like Dean was exactly up to date on who did what in Washington. Nor did he particularly care. As long as every single person who came in even brief contact with Novak checked out, Dean was happy. Let others deal with the dry political nonsense. Thankfully, Novak hadn't shown much proclivities towards doing too much traveling or visiting with dignitaries or meeting the public. Outside of a twice daily 9-mile jog (never let it be said that Dean Winchester wasn't in shape), he seemed to prefer staying in his accommodations and/or arguing with Crowley. Which was just fine by Dean. He had never been happier that he wasn't in charge of Crowley who seemed to prefer out-of-the-way bars and as much dealing with the public as he possibly could fit into one 24 hour span. How that man got elected Vice-President was a mystery. 

And today at 0800 hours, Novak was being sworn in as the 44th President of the United States and Dean's entire attention was going to be on making sure none of the nut jobs who had been sending in non-stop hate mail could get through his level of defense. And it absolutely was not going to be on how the soon-to-be-President's voice sounded like he gargled on whiskey regularly and occasionally screamed himself hoarse. Or on the fact that even though he usually looked politely confused, his eyes could flash dangerously when he was angry giving a brief glimpse into a certain raw power. Or on the fact that his hair looked like someone had dragged him into a nearby closet and run their fingers through his hair while kissing his slightly chapped lips senseless. Or on, "okay, snap out of it Winchester." Dean growled at himself as he quickly crossed the small courtyard and prepared to meet the Presidential Motorcade for the short ride to the White House.

It was almost commonplace now to nod respectfully to the President-elect (or Cas, as Dean had taken to referring to him during certain late night fantasies involving, well, things better not thought of while actually in the presence of the man) as he followed him into the spacious Stagecoach. Charlie was already seated, eyes alert as she scanned the area. 

Dean had early on made it a habit to be focused on either the road or on the chatter from the other agents. If he looked at Cas for too long he tended to not stop. Ever. He was pretty sure he could spend days lost in the changing shades of blue that swirled through the man's eyes. And okay, Dean liked men, but he had enough scraps of dignity left to realize that was legitimately the gayest thing he had ever thought and really? He needed to concentrate. Like yesterday.

"Agent Winchester?" Oh God, why was he talking? 

_'You're a professional, Winchester, a Professional.'_

"Yes, sir, Mr President?"

Dean wasn't sure if he imagined the tiny sigh right before he spoke, "Have there been any more recent threats?"

Ahh. This was never his favorite subject. The amount of anti-gay hate mail that Cas received on a daily basis was downright horrifying. "Nothing out of the ordinary, sir. Today should run smoothly." The first part was a lie. The hate mail had picked up in the past two weeks, but nothing stood out as particularly worrisome for today.

"Excellent. Thank you Agent."

"Of course, sir."

See, that wasn't so bad, he really was a professional. No matter what Sam said in their weekly dinners and daily chats and pretty much every opportunity that came along since that day two months ago when Dean had shaken hands with the most attractive man that the world had to offer and then made the astronomical mistake of telling Sam. Not that Sam would tell anyone. Or at least anyone important. Or at least anyone who wasn't a member of either one of their teams. Dean barely restrained a groan as he escorted Cas through the White House to the Blue Room, and then faded into the background.

Everyone in the room had been checked and double-checked and triple-checked, reporters, staff, dignitaries, and, Oh God, family. That meant that Gabriel Novak was here. In the room. Probably preparing to do something particularly horrifying like, "Hey Dean!"

Dean gritted his teeth as he turned and glared down at the short man in front of him. "It's Agent Winchester."

"Yes, not the point. The point is that my awesome brother is getting to be President and that's super cool and all, but can I say something? Like on television? Like to my ex-girlfriend. Wow, wouldn't she be jealous?"

"Mr Novak...."

"Gabriel."

"Mr Novak! Could you please have a seat or I will have one of my agents escort you bodily from the room and you won't witness anything at all."

"Can it be the hot one?"

Dean didn't even want to know which member of his team Gabriel considered the "hot one," he just grabbed Gabriel's arm and escorted him bodily to his front seat (and who had decided putting Gabriel front and center was a good idea?). As he headed back to his post, Dean caught Cas' eye for a brief moment and he most definitely did not imagine the look of gratitude and relief on the other man's face. Dean flashed him a smile of commiseration. And then everything was a flurry of activity and Dean's entire focus was back on protecting the man.

"I, Castiel James Novak, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States." 

_'And now you have a crush on the President. Awesome.'_

\--------

The morning sun was just barely over the horizon and it was Castiel's favorite time of day. Starting his day at 5:30 meant he had the optimal time to get in a long jog and have some time to read before the world wanted his attention. Which, okay, that was fair. He was the leader of the free world, had been for two months now. Though so far this meant more continual arguments with Crowley and his Chief of Staff Michael Myers (yes, he had won that debate) about what the country did and did not need. Pulling the "I'm the President and so you should listen to me" card with Crowley usually did not have the hoped for affect. 

Castiel shouldn't have been surprised to see Agent Winchester leaning against the wall yawning and holding two cups of coffee when he opened the side door, but he was. The man had been the head of his security for a little over five months and, though extremely professional at all times, he was...detached. As if he was going through a routine. There were only a few moments here and there which gave Castiel a glimpse into the real Dean Winchester. Like this morning coffee routine. Castiel had no idea how Dean had learned how he preferred his coffee or what means he had used to bribe the kitchen staff to make it or even why he did it. He just accepted it with a quiet "thank you Agent" and led the way outside. 

Castiel started with the stretches and moved to a brisk walk as he usually did, but his mind was firmly on the agent trailing him three paces to the back and one to the left. If he had ever given a thought to the security detail he would be assigned he probably would have taken into consideration having someone follow him around practically 24/7. He would have lamented his loss of freedom to run to the local corner mart to grab a slushie on the spur of the moment instead of planning every move out for weeks in advance. The lack of sporadic late night cappuccino and donut runs was a true tragedy. But he would never have considered that the Special Agent in Charge of his every move for the next four years was going to be this attractive. I mean, really. It simply wasn't fair that one person have that much attractiveness all at once. It could be a bit overwhelming, especially when Castiel would step out of a meeting and Dean would be lounged across a bench in a leather jacket, his eyes instantly watching every move he made. 

Castiel was careful to keep his little crush to himself. That's the sort of thing that could ruin an agent's career. Not to mention his presidency. Not to mention what Gabriel would say. Actually, Gabriel had already had plenty to say on the subject. But that was more because he hit on anything that moved (and sometimes things that didn't). But Gabriel had mostly kept his rantings on the side of "You should totally bail me out of a jail." or "Can you please have a big gay marriage so I can meet more hot rich people?" and less on the "Here is a decent, upstanding man who will understand that you are the President of the free world and he would totally have to be the First Man." 

Castiel let out a deep sigh as he dumped his coffee in a nearby trash can and slowly quickened his pace. He had barely exchanged fifteen words with Dean Winchester not business related, there was no telling whether or not they even had anything in common.

\--------

 

Suddenly it was April and time for the Easter Egg Roll on the White House Lawn. Dean personally enjoyed watching Cas stand in the midst of a constant stream of small children with an expression of fond bemusement. It was arguably his favorite moment thus far. 

It was July and Crowley had insisted on the largest display of fireworks the White House had ever seen. However, when night came on and the streaks of color were racing across the sky and shaking the ground, Castiel found his attention wholly on the man who was always slightly behind him and to the left. Dean's head was tipped back and he looked a bit like a kid at the candy store. Unfortunately, as though sensing Castiel's gaze, Dean immediately sent out a quick apology and returned to scanning the crowd for potential attacks. Castiel wasn't even sure how to respond so he heaved a sigh and tried to focus back on the grand display, but his heart was no longer in it.

Halloween was a disaster from start to finish, in Dean's opinion. It was the first year since he was old enough to dress up that he wasn't able to (damn the White House tradition of allowing children to trick-or-treat here) and he had to watch Cas argue with Crowley for an hour on the merits of wearing a costume. Dean was on the fence about that one and when Cas gave in and emerged later that evening wearing a Old Western themed costume, he realized he was going to have to spend the next three hours or so watching Cas walk around looking like sex on wheels and since when did this become his life?

Mid-December found Castiel window-shopping in a desperate attempt to find something, anything for Gabriel. It isn't like Gabriel was the hardest person to buy for, it's just that most of the things he would like, Castiel didn't feel comfortable buying as the President of the United States. Also he kept getting distracted wondering what the quiet man behind him would like. The man who had just handed him a cup of coffee and a croissant from his favorite bakery in the greater D.C. area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from You & Me by Lifehouse....  
> Yes, I know I'm jumping through time here. This is because of reasons.  
> 


	3. The Wrong Words Seem To Rhyme

Before Dean knew it, they were celebrating the year anniversary of Cas' inauguration. Having a crush on the President of the United States did nothing to change the passage of time. There were many days when Dean wished it did, but whether he wanted time to slow down or speed up, he was never quite sure. Speeding up meant he wouldn't have to endure the torture of watching Cas sweep around the White House in that ridiculous trench coat he favored when he was particularly deep in thought or hear his gravel voice inform millions of people about the latest in healthcare reform, gun control, and women's rights. Not that Dean cared two licks about any of that (except perhaps gun control, but as long as he was allowed to carry a sidearm or three, he was alright), but he was pretty sure he could listen to Cas talk about the best way to remove mold from your dishwasher and he would still think that voice was sexy as hell. Because it was. Totally. But speeding up time also meant he wouldn't get the opportunity to walk past one of the libraries at 10 at night to see Cas curled into his favorite chair reading a book by Dostoyevsky or Kerouac and sipping some sort of imported coffee or watch him run his hands through his hair when he was trying to explain a particularly bothersome point to Crowley. No, Dean was not at all sure he ever wanted to have a different member of the political world claim these halls. They seemed to welcome Cas into their center and the portraits of the older Presidents smiled down at the latest in a long line. And now Dean was getting totally carried away and it was definitely time for him to concentrate or he was going to start drooling in the middle of another Important Dinner and not because of the roast beef that the dignitaries were putting away with great relish. 

"Yo, Winchester." And that was Jo's voice in his ear and not in a this-is-important tone either. No, this was Jo's I-can-mess-with-Dean-and-there's-nothing-he-can-do-about-it tone. Because he couldn't even change his facial expression without setting off a four-alarm emergency. And she knew it.

"How's the cutest President doing right now? Looking good with that silver tie isn't he? Really accents his eyes, don't you think." Dean resisted the urge to rip out his earpiece. Because the silver tie totally did look good on Cas. "Makes you just want to rip that suit off with your teeth doesn't it? I mean you, not me. He's totally not my type. Don't be jealous there Dean. I know you laid dibs on him from the moment you saw him. Alright then, I'm out." He was going to kill Jo, he knew a dozen ways of hiding a body without even breaking a sweat. 

But the dinner was breaking up and he just needed to get them through the next thirty minutes of ushering Cas through the restaurant, the twenty minute drive to Cas's side entrance, and another fifteen to make sure that the earlier shift had done a proper perimeter sweep and the night crew was ready and waiting, and then he could properly kick Jo's ass somewhere into next week. Or next month, really he wasn't picky. 

Which is of course the moment when it all went to shit. One moment he and Charlie were flanking Cas and the next the whole ground was shaking and glass was flying and Dean had Cas on the ground in 2.5 seconds flat. People were screaming and Dean was vaguely aware of Benny in his ear talking about something he couldn't quite make out. Charlie was checking with Cas and when she gave him a thumbs up, Dean felt a brief jolt of reassurance that had nothing to do with Cas being President before he snapped back into full-on Emergency Response Mode.

"Angel is secure. I repeat Angel is secure." 

"I hear you. Angel is secure." Dean could practically hear the relief from Benny. 

"Talk to me. Whatcha got?" There wasn't a whole lot to see from this perspective. His face was parallel to the bottom rung of a chair, but he couldn't exactly move until he knew what they were dealing with.

"It was an earthquake brother. The area isn't secure. Don't bring Angel out here."

"Copy that."

Right. That meant finding a place in here to lie low for a bit. The basement had been the plan earlier, but the entrance to that was too close to the front door to risk that right now. There had been a middle closet, he remembered that from the earlier security tour.

"Bradbury. Middle hall closet, the old freezer." 

"Gotcha." Charlie pushed to her feet and stood ready to lead the way through the crowd.

"Mr President," Dean suddenly remembered he was mostly pinning Cas to the ground and okay, that would explain the faint smell of berries, his face was inches away from Cas' hair. "We're going to move. You ready?"

"Yes." It was breathless and Dean immediately rolled off Cas and to his feet before reaching to grip Cas' arm and haul him to his feet.

And then they were moving through the crowd, dodging crying men wearing thousand-dollar-suits and if Dean wasn't concentrating on getting the President safely through this pandemonium, he would enjoy that picture. As it was, it was taking every bit of his concentration to guide Cas through the disaster of broken tables and splatters of food and so much broken glass. He was vaguely aware of people clutching at his sleeves, his suit made him look like he knew what was going on, but his facial expression kept most of them from trying to halt his progress. It took entirely too long to navigate through the room, down a hall, and into a mid-sized utility closet. 

"We're going to hang tight in here for a bit till we figure out what's going on." Dean informed Cas, who was looking a bit tight-lipped, but otherwise calm. "Bradbury. Stay in the hallway. No one comes down here. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Charlie gave him the determined look of one who understood that this was totally what they'd signed up for and just because they'd had 14 months of relative peace didn't mean anything.

Dean nodded to her and carefully shut the door and locked it before turning to check in with Cas. He discovered him perched awkwardly on the edge of a overturned bucket. The closet wasn't overly large, but it wasn't tiny either and Dean heaved a sigh of relief at that. Though he couldn't deny the occasional fantasy of a small space, Cas, and unlimited time, this was neither the time or the place and wow, Dean really needed to reign in his thoughts.

"You sure you're alright, Mr President?"

"You're bleeding."

Dean blinked a few times at that. Now that he had a moment to think he realized there was twinge above his left eyebrow. He snatched a cleaning rag off a nearby shelf and attempted to swipe at his forehead. And suddenly Cas was right there in his personal space. "Here, let me."

Dean blindly handed over the rag and tried not to breath or blink or even think while Cas gently pressed the towel to his face. Which is of course the moment when there was a second tremor and the room shook and suddenly he had an armful of President. And since when had the room shrunk? Dean was positive it had been a great deal bigger three minutes ago. Next thing he knew Cas was halfway across the room and he was vaguely surprised how bereft he felt without the other man. 

"S-sorry." Did the President of the free world just stutter? Dean was pretty sure he had.

"It's fine, man - sir." Shit and now Dean was slipping. _Get it together, Winchester. Professional._ "Chatter says it was just an aftershock." Yeah, let's play this off and pretend it never happened. King of Ignoring Emotions, that was Dean Winchester.

 

\--------

Castiel couldn't believe he'd just practically hugged the man. And that he had felt so warm and strong and, oh this train of thought was doing no one any good. Concentrate. Surely there was something important to discuss here. Something that could restore some sort of normalcy and everyone could move past the fact that he had had just offered to clean a cut on the face of the agent in charge of his security detail and then thrown himself into his arms, earthquake notwithstanding. Oh yes, earthquake, ie the reason they were stuck in this room. That was safe to talk about. 

"Are we safe in here?" 

"Oh yeah, this used to be a freezer. Pretty structurally sound. We'll probably have a couple more aftershocks, that initial one registered pretty high." Dean slid down the wall as he spoke, his back to the heavy door he had closed behind them.

"Good, good. That's good then." Wow, for a man who had once won a National Championship for Debate, Castiel couldn't believe his inability to form a complete sentence. But it wasn't like he had ever had to hold a conversation with Dean about something that wasn't his schedule for every waking moment (which is not necessarily as romantic as one might think) or whether or not the security for a certain event was up to par. And now it looked like they were going to be stuck here, in this suddenly impossibly tiny room, for an undetermined amount of time. The idea of sitting here in complete silence struck Castiel as pretty terrible.

As he waited for inspiration to strike, he studied the man across from him. Dean almost looked casual sitting there, with one leg straight out and one crooked upwards. His suit was rumpled and there were stains that looked suspiciously like gravy across his tie and there was a slightly fatigued look in the agent's eyes, but there was something about the set of his mouth and the line of his shoulders that led Castiel to believe that he was one loud noise away from opening fire. He would occasionally press one finger to his earpiece as he listened to whatever chatter was echoing across the lines. 

"S'gonna be a bit. It did quite a bit of damage out there and no one can get through. Not even you." Dean's left eyebrow quirked a bit at that.

"It isn't your fault, Agent."

Dean gave him a noncommittal shrug and that was the end of that conversation. Castiel was suddenly struck by the fact that this man had been his near constant companion for over a year and he hadn't gotten to know him at all. He didn't know if he had siblings who he was worrying about or what he liked to drink or even how old he was. When had he gotten so wrapped up in his goals that he forgot that the people around him were people with lives and dreams of their own? Yes, he was the President, but this was unacceptable. Come to think of it, Castiel didn't even know if Dean was in a relationship. That was horrifying. What if he had spent this whole time lusting after a man who was happily married with three kids? And okay, so Dean wasn't wearing a ring, but still. And what if he didn't even like men? He was a little surprised that this was the first time that particular thought had crossed his brain. Potentially straight men were definitely not what had Castiel had in mind. But there was something, a slight softening in Dean's eyes occasionally, it made him hope. Castiel tried to rack his brain for something to say that wasn't, 'Please God tell me you aren't having sex with someone on a regular basis who isn't me.' That wasn't how he did things, but then again it had been so long since he had felt this strongly for another human (not to mention since he had gotten laid) that he was pretty sure it was going to cause some sort of permanent condition. 

"Any word on potential damages?" There, that was a safe topic. He was the president, he was supposed to be caring about the people and preparing to give a national address, not wishing he had the time (not to mention the permission) to count each and every freckle spanning Dean Winchester's face.

"It seems pretty bad out there. Benny, er, Agent Lafitte is keeping me posted. They're working to clear the back streets so we can move you somewhere safer."

Castiel couldn't help but feel a flash of jealousy at the use of the Agent Lafitte's given name. Was there a thing between the two of them? He couldn't help asking, "Are you and your team pretty close?"

"Ahh, yes." Dean rubbed the back of his neck in seeming embarrassment. "We've been working together for quite a bit here. And Agent Lafitte and I met at training about six years back now."

That didn't exactly answer the question, but this was a topic he could question. "Is that how long you've been in the Service?" 

"Yeah, I got recruited out of Topeka. I was a homicide Detective out there."

"Kansas? That's a good ways away." Which, in retrospect was one of the more inane things Castiel had ever said.

But Dean just huffed a laugh and stretched back a little more. "Yeah, no place like home." 

"I suppose."

Dean gave him a look like there was a joke in there that he hadn't caught on to. "I'm sorry, was that a reference? Because I didn't understand it."

"Wizard of Oz, man? You never heard of it?" For a moment Dean just looked astonished and then he straightened up and added, "I mean, sir."

"It's quite alright. You don't have to be formal." But of course, he did and wasn't that the whole crux of the issue right there. "Listen, why don't we just talk like we are regular people until we get out of here?"

Dean looked at him like he was a bit crazy, but then shrugged his shoulder, and jerked his head up. "Alright."

And there was silence.

 

\--------

Dean wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. This was quite potentially the weirdest conversation he had ever (not) had and he'd had meaning of life discussions with Sammy at 1 am while drunk out of his mind. But honestly, what was there to say? Sure Dean knew some details about the man. You couldn't follow this man around all the time and not pick up on these details. But there was a potential here to learn more. Did Dean really want to go there? Then again, maybe he would reveal something really terrible about himself and that would be the end of that. Which is right about when Dean realized that Cas wasn't actually saying anything else. Oh, maybe he should speak. Alright. Decision made.

"How about we do a sort of exchange of info thing?" The look Cas was giving him made Dean wonder if he had suddenly switched into an alternate language and didn't realize it. "You know, like, I ask you a question and you have to answer it and then you get the chance to ask something?"

"A question for a question." That wasn't a question and so Dean just waited. This was kind of unprofessional, but the concrete floor was really hard and Benny's chatter made it seem like leaving here wasn't going to be happening for awhile, and Dean just wanted to concentrate on something that wasn't the deep blue eyes that were thoughtfully regarding him.

"We can do that."

It took Dean a solid sixty seconds to remember what on earth Cas was talking about and another sixty to realize he wasn't saying anything else. Damn, this was going to be a long couple hours. "So, um, I guess I'll go first?" At Cas' brief nod he went on, "How about, what was it like growing up with Gabriel?"

The laugh that emerged from Cas seemed to surprise them both. "Dreadful. He was, and still is, a menace to society. He once set our shed on fire and when he was questioned, he claimed he was trying to check which of the liquids in there were actually flammable."

"Wow, and I thought growing up with Sammy was awful."

"Sammy? Is that your brother?"

"Yeah, Sammy is my only sibling. He's younger by a few years. He works in the Service in their computer intelligence department. He's really smart and kind of a geek." Dean couldn't help the obvious pride. "Oh, and don't let him catch you calling him Sammy. I mean, not that you would. Um."

"It's alright. I hope I get the opportunity to meet him someday."

"I bet you'd get along well. He likes those old boring novels too." Shit, Dean hadn't meant to say that. 

Cas chuckled quietly. "They can be a bit dull, but they are excellent statements on the rise and fall of society."

Yeah, Dean had no idea what that meant, but alright. "Who is your favorite author?"

"Vonnegut by far."

"Yeah? I've read a little by him. I'm not a huge reader. Never had much time for that." Dean mentally berated himself for his lack of attention in high school and having a crush on a guy that was so far out of his league he might as well be on a different planet.

"Did you always want to be in law enforcement?"

"Huh? Oh, erm, no. I wanted to be a mechanic actually. I know, kind of a dumb goal. But I love fixing cars. Especially old ones, you know? I have an '67 Impala. She's beautiful. They just don't make them like that anymore, you know?" 

"That's not a dumb goal. I wanted to be the president since I was 10."

"Yeah, but at least you achieved yours." And shit, shit, shit, that came out wrong. "Dude, I'm sorry. That came out wrong."

"It's alright, Agent. Perhaps someday you'll be able to make your dreams a reality. I have no doubt you will be an amazing mechanic." 

That was one of the nicest things that anyone had ever said to him and for the life of him, Dean had no clue how to respond.

 

\-------

Castiel shifted on the upturned bucket and tried to figure out something to say to break the sudden silence. He wasn't sure if he had overstepped this tenuous bond they had, but the way Dean's eyes had lit up when he talked about his car had touched something that made Castiel want to promise him the world but before he could get any words out, Dean seemed to shake himself out of it and smiled at him. And God, the things that smile did to him should be illegal.

"Maybe someday. Anyways, I think it's my turn here, so isn't there ever a time you didn't want to be the leader of the free world?"

"Yes. I think the phrase "it seemed like a good idea at the time" is apt here." 

Dean's laugh echoed off the metal walls and Castiel watched as he seemed to relax a little more. 

"Man, that's like the start of every good night I've ever had."

Before Castiel had a chance to respond, Dean held one finger up and pressed the other to his earpiece. "Alright! We're good to get moving. They've got the roads cleared enough for us to make it through."

As Castiel followed Agent Bradbury through the wrecked interior of the restaurant and out to his motorcade he couldn't help feeling like there had been a moment when things could have been more somehow and it hadn't happened. He was struck by a sense of loss so strong he almost stumbled climbing into the lead car. 

"Alright there, sir?" And yes, the moment was completely gone. Which was probably for the best. So he simply nodded and settled back into his seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from 'Collide' by Howie Day  
> 


	4. Moving Down the Page

In the days following the earthquake, Dean had more pressing things on his mind than his relationship (such as it was...not) with Cas, much as he'd like to only dwell on that issue. And he really would. He had never turned in an English paper in high school, but he was pretty sure he could write entire essays on the subject. But some idiots started getting on national TV to claim that the earthquake was a judgment from God on Washington for electing a gay president. And it had set off a complete shit storm. So for the time being, 'How To Get Into a Relationship With Cas' had to take a back seat to the more pressing subject of 'How To Keep Cas Alive'. 

Most of the angry letters directed towards the President on a daily basis were from the average person who just wanted to vent for a moment - maybe someone with an axe to grind and no other way to do it. These letters were read, analyzed for potential danger, and quickly filed away. But there were others that were more serious, flagged for the choice of words, the number of letters or emails from one source, and the level of violence entailed. The ones who showed serious intent were forwarded straight to the technical analysts (Sam's department) and they determined whether the threats were worth putting the President's team on higher alert. In the days following the earthquake, that number began to rise alarmingly and the team spent every waking moment on edge. 

The latest in a long line was simple enough, white notebook paper, block writing, threatening language. But there was something in the wording that had struck Dean when Sam forwarded it. It was too direct, there wasn't enough flowery language for it to be someone needing to let off a little steam, and it was signed 'Luc'. And it seemed oddly...personal. Like the author knew or had known Cas at one point. As soon as Dean read the email he picked up the phone.

_"Sammy, tell me more about this letter?"_

_"You got that already?"_

_"I'm not just a pretty face. But seriously, tell me about the letter."_

_"Ha ha. Alright, well, it's the fourth we've gotten in the past two weeks."_

_"Fourth? And I'm just now hearing about it?"_

_"Hey, do you really want me to forward you every repeat letter we get?" The bitchface accompanying that line was strong._

_"No, no not at all."_

_"Yeah, that's what I thought. But get this - every letter has been mailed from a different zip code."_

_"Huh, that's interesting. Listen, what's up with the signature? How do you even pronounce that?"_

_"Luke? Luck? I don't know. But I like it, it looks French." And damn if it didn't sound like Sam was drooling._

_"You're such a girl."_

_"Speak for yourself."_

_"Why do I even put up with you?"_

_"Aww, you love me."_

_"Yeah, yeah. Enough with the chit-chat. Does this strike you as, I don't know...Like they know Cas or something?"_

_"Cas?!"_

_"Focus."_

_"Yeah. Okay then. Um, yeah, sure, I guess. I don't know 'Cas' as well as you apparently do. You guys have any heart-to-hearts I don't know about? Anything you want to share?"_

_"I take that back - you are worse than a girl. Why did I even call you? I'm gonna hang up now."_

The last thing Dean needed was one. more. person. asking him about his (absolutely nonexistent) relationship with the President of the freaking United States. It had started with Charlie the morning after the Earthquake Incident. She had cornered him on his rounds.

"Sooooo, Dean...."

"Can I help you?"

"Anything happen last night that you want to share?"

"I ruined my best suit."

"Besides that?"

"I can't think of anything."

"Are you sure? Because you were in that closet with Castiel for an awfully long time." And Dean did not at all like the emphasis she put on Cas' name.

"Yeah, maybe because, oh I don't know, there was an earthquake and I was trying to protect him."

"Is that what the cool kids call it these days? I can never keep track."

"Seriously, Charlie? Seriously? Don't you have more important things to do?"

She'd had the audacity to laugh merrily as she waltzed around the corner. That alone wouldn't have been so bad if Jo hadn't caught him at lunch. He had just sat down with the best burger that Washington, D.C. had to offer when she collapsed on the chair across from him. And then just sat. And stared at him. And twirled that damn knife. And stared at him some more.

"Did you need something Harvelle? Or are you just plotting my death?"

She didn't even blink at his use of her last name. That was not a good sign. "I hear you and the President are best friends now."

"Not you too."

"It's interesting."

"Not to me." Hopefully she'd get the hint.

She didn't. "Dean, you need to man up and talk to him. Or woman up. I feel like that is a more appropriate phrase lately."

"What part of 'he's the President' do you people not understand?"

"The part where you're in love with him and won't admit it."

"Yeah, I'm not in love with him. I hardly know the guy." At this point Dean wasn't sure if either of those were even true anymore. 

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You need to take a hard look at yourself there Dean-o. Cause you are in some pretty major denial."

"Alright. I've heard enough. I'm going to eat lunch somewhere else." Dean grabbed his burger and sent Jo one last glare as he exited the room. The only problem was he wasn't hungry anymore. Which was a major problem. Because these burgers were seriously the best and it had been a while since he'd gotten the chance to sit down to enjoy one, but it was a Sunday and Cas was holed up in his private quarters probably regretting the day he'd met Dean Winchester. And now Dean really wasn't hungry. He sadly threw the burger in the trash and had a moment of silence for the tragedy.

Garth had the decency to wait an entire three days. They were hanging in the background waiting for Cas to finish giving yet another speech on the destruction from the earthquake. 

Dean had just taken a drink of water when Garth spoke. "So you like the President?"

Dean spit his entire mouthful on the ground. Thankfully they were out of sight of any cameras. "What?!"

"That's what everyone is saying. And I mean, it makes sense. I've seen you watch him."

"Yeah, that's kind of my job. Watching him. Yours too, come to that."

"Mmm, no. You watch him differently than I do."

"Great Garth, and how do I watch him?" And Dean was going to regret asking that, he really was.

"Like you want to sleep with him." Yep, he definitely regretted it.

"Okay, shut up before I put my boot where the sun doesn't shine."

"You know, I'm not feeling the love." The look Garth gave him was positively wounded.

"I'll show you...the...love." Damn, he sounded like a five year old. Thankfully that was the moment the press conference broke up and Dean could legitimately walk away without feeling quite so stupid. 

Dean spent every waking moment not on duty thinking about this Luc character and every moment on duty wishing he had the courage to speak to Cas. Or that Cas would speak to him. Because he totally wasn't. In fact, ever since the Earthquake Incident, Cas had been extra formal with him. Yeah, Dean had totally overstepped his boundaries there and he knew it. But he’d thought… I don't know, he'd thought Cas had been okay with it, even started to relax a bit there. But he was obviously reading it all wrong because these days Cas would hardly even make eye contact.

It was a Saturday evening two weeks later and the entire team was gathered around the conference room discussing Luc. He (she?) was upping the volume of letters and had started hinting at a possible attack during Cas and Crowley's Chicago visit the following month. The notion that he somehow knew Cas was still bothering Dean, but when he had mentioned it to the team they'd pretty much brushed it off. 

It was late and tensions were running high so before there was actual bloodshed there in the White House, Dean made an executive decision. "Okay, listen guys. Get outta here and catch a couple of hours of sleep. We'll talk again first thing." Dean dismissed them with a wave. 

Benny hung around as Dean grabbed the latest letter to read it for what felt like the millionth time. "Come on brother, let's grab a drink. You deserve one."

"I don't know, Benny. There's something here. I can feel it." 

"You're really turning down a drink right now?" 

"Maybe? Hell, I don't know. I feel like I'm losing my damn mind half the time these days."

"Listen, I ain't telling ya twice. We're going to grab a drink. Now come on."

"Yeah, alright." Dean pushed reluctantly to his feet and followed Benny out the door. To be honest it was nice to get outside. The crisp February wind knocked the cobwebs away and Dean felt like he could think properly again.

"Thanks for this man. Really." Dean said as they stepped into a small, out-of-the-way, D. C. bar. 

"No problem. It's what friends are for."

"Yeah."

"So, listen brother."

"I swear to God, Benny, if you bring up Cas I will punch you in the face."

"Easy there brother. I just don't want to see you get hurt. And from where I'm sitting that's the only clear path."

"How do you mean?" Dean wouldn't accept chick-flick moments with just anyone, but Benny was different. There's nothing quite like army crawling through mud to bond two people.

"He's the president of the goddam US, Dean? You notice that? It's like you're asking for trouble."

"Hey, I remember Lewinsky same as you do. I'm not trying to put him on trial or anything. And right now he pretty much hates me, so it's out of the question anyway." That was a depressing thought and Dean took a long drink of his beer.

"Well, I ain't trying to make your decisions for you. I can't exactly judge anyone for their choices in that department. God knows I've made my fair share of stupid mistakes. But you're my friend and I don't see this path ending well for anyone."

"Yeah, that's fair." 

"And that's enough heart-to-hearts, there's a pool table over there...I bet I can kick your ass, Agent."

"Yeah, whatever, Louisiana boy. You're on."

 

\-------

 

Castiel was moping and he knew it. It had been three weeks since he and Dean had been locked in the closet together (yeah, that joke stopped being funny a long time ago) and Dean had taken to practically ignoring him outside of their necessary daily conversations. He knew that pacing around his private chambers and generally attempting to avoid Dean was not the best way to handle the situation, but frankly he didn't think he had any other options. He wanted to speak to Dean, he truly did. But every time he thought there was an opportunity, Dean would suddenly have to take a phone call or be listening to his earpiece with a distracted expression. Castiel had spent more time being followed around by Agent Bradbury or Fitzgerald than he had Dean in the past few weeks. He thought that they had shared something that night, but he was probably reading into things too much. He knew he had the tendency to do that. Gabriel had definitely reminded him of that on a daily basis when they had been teenagers. Of course Gabriel had also been arrested for streaking through the annual County Fair, so what did he really know? Castiel wasn't even sure this whole thing was strictly ethical. Did the Secret Service have rules about dating clients? He knew the presidency did. Though those rules tended to govern the on-the-sly sexual advances towards White House staff and were less clear about a relationship with a member of one's security detail. But he was pretty sure that would be frowned upon. By someone. Or everyone. And it wasn't like Dean was even interested in him. Dean was a fascinating man with his excitement towards life and his dreams and what was Castiel? Besides being the President. And that wasn't as big of a selling point as being able to hold an interesting conversation. Which he had totally failed to do. Castiel was beginning to regret, for the first time in his adult life, his extremely high tolerance for alcohol because it seemed like an ideal time to get drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Story of Your Life' by Five for Fighting  
> Thank you to CSJ for helping me get over my writer's block moments and for fixing my "Comma Condition" and for being generally awesome.  
> THANK YOU SO MUCH for your kind comments and love. You're really inspiring me to get this done faster! I appreciate it!


	5. Falling Over Edges With You

The mid-morning sun was warm, but the brisk wind off of Lake Michigan made Dean glad this was a more casual event and his leather jacket was perfectly acceptable. This trip to Chicago was part of a returning-to-your-roots thing Cas and Crowley were doing. They would be spending a week here in Cas' hometown and then heading out to LA for a week with Crowley's folks. The idea of meeting anyone related to Crowley was reason #394 why Dean was glad he was not assigned to the man. He didn't spend too much time with him (Crowley had his own team of agents), but there was something in his smile that made Dean uncomfortable. Not to mention his tendency to refer to everyone by some nickname he had come up with for them; nobody called Dean "Squirrel" and stayed on his good side for long.

Currently they were headed to Rinascita Pizzeria; apparently this was the best pizza place in Chicago according to Cas. Dean was on edge about the whole thing. If there was anything he hated more than Cas' public appearances, it was Cas' public appearances in places that Dean hadn't had a chance to scout out and to note all the entrances and exits. And on a trip about which Luc had been very specific, Dean was especially unhappy with any unplanned stops. But Cas was insistent and there was no real reason why they shouldn't stop. After all, Luc had mailed the letters from various zip codes, there was no telling where he was from. He was just as liable to hit them in LA or Washington, D.C. or at their stop in Denver. Still, the entire team had been on high alert since, well, since they had taken off from D.C. Dean knew that the team's elevated stress was entirely because of his own high levels, but he knew they would all thank him later when they were able to avert a national tragedy.

As they entered Rinascita's, Dean was struck first by the overwhelmingly amazing smell of Chicago's famous deep-dish and secondly by the immediate tension in Cas. A quick scan of the place showed nothing out of the ordinary -- cliche red-and-white checked tablecloths, retro decorations, cheap beer on tap, and a few late morning diners. Dean was probably just overreacting. A few moments later, the Presidential party was situated in a private room and the team was standing guard at the entrances to stop anyone from passing through and from taking unwanted photos. Eating deep-dish by hand was one of the harder things Dean had ever done, but it wasn't impossible. They were halfway through the meal when a young man with sandy-blond hair and a snarky grin appeared in the doorway. 

"You're not allowed in here." Dean blocked the man's view of the room.

"I'm the chef." He **was** wearing a flour and sauce covered apron.

"Yeah? You're still not allowed in here." 

The man was just opening his mouth to reply when Cas' voice sounded from behind him. "It's okay, Agent."

As Dean turned to raise one eyebrow at Cas, the man ducked past him and walked straight over to the President. Cas had risen, somewhat reluctantly it seemed, from his chair and the two shared a hug, well, a manly thump or two on the back. 

"Hey cuz!"

Cousin? Dean studied the man more closely and could see no family resemblance. Where Cas' hair was dark, this man's had a definite blond tint to it, where Cas' facial expressions were usually difficult to read, this man was an open book. Nope, totally wasn't buying the cousin thing. Up until the moment when Cas turned to introduce the man to Crowley as "my cousin Luc."

"What?" Dean honesty couldn't keep that to himself.

Cas half turned back to him and repeated his statement, "This is my cousin, Luc."

"Luc? Like Luc? Like, as in, have you been sending letters?"

"Letters?" And that came from at least three people at once. But it was Luc's voice who broke through first. "Yeah, of course I have. Cassie, haven't you been getting my notes?"

"I have not." And Dean wasn't even sure what kind of emotion was layered in Cas' voice. Relief perhaps, with just a hint of annoyance.

"I'm sorry, Mr President." Dean immediately stepped forward to explain. "We had thought they were potential threats. We, that is I, didn't realize that he was your cousin." 

Cas smiled thinly while Luc burst into maniacal laughter. "Threats?! Me? I wouldn't harm a hair on dear old Cassie's head. I truly wouldn't." He ruffled Cas' hair as he spoke and if looks could kill, Luc would be a smoldering pile of ash.

Cas looked straight at Dean (for the first time since the Earthquake Incident, he was pretty sure) and gave a genuine smile. "It's not your fault, Agent Winchester. Luc can be a bit much sometimes. I'm sure his letters seemed very threatening."

Dean smiled, albeit a bit forced, and then turned back towards the doorway. He waited till he was just out of earshot before exclaiming "Well, son of a bitch." All he heard echoing through his earpiece was laughter and he figured it was pretty well-deserved.

 

\--------

California had been fairly uneventful so far and Castiel was beyond thankful. Meeting Crowley's family was a sort of hell on earth. His older brother Alastair was the sort of man that made Castiel extremely thankful for Gabriel. And that was saying something. This "Family Tour" had been all Crowley's idea and Castiel was quite done with it. He was eager to be back in Washington and continuing work on his pet project - a bill set to legalize gay marriage in all 50 states. He had come up against surprisingly little opposition yet. He was not entirely sure if this was because of the fact that people had predicted this (being the first gay president tended to give people preconceived notions) or because the country really was ready for this. Tomorrow, on the way back to Washington, they would be stopping in Denver where he would give his first speech primarily focusing on the bill. It would then be three more months until the bill was voted on, but Castiel was hopeful.

He was basking in the late afternoon sun and seriously giving some thought to petitioning to move the US capital to sunny California when he heard footsteps. Opening his eyes and blinking against the bright rays, he watched Dean approach. After the meeting with Luc in Chicago (and hadn't that truly been a joy), Dean had seemed a bit more relaxed and a lot more embarrassed around him. Castiel hadn't had chance to discuss it with him and thought this was probably an ideal opportunity. 

"Agent Winchester."

"Good afternoon, Mr President." Castiel wasn't at all sure he liked the contrast between Dean's formal manner and his plaid button-up and jeans. "Would this be a good time to discuss the itinerary for tomorrow?"

"Yes, this would be fine. Also, I wanted to reiterate that I truly don't mind you not realizing that Luc was my cousin. I hadn't realized you had been concerned."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, we've all been real worried. He sent them all from different zip codes and stuff. I thought, well, he made a lot of references to this trip. Seemed he was going to try something..."

That would actually explain how tense Dean had been. Castiel said as much to Dean and watched a relieved smile brighten the man's face. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed that smile. Castiel forgot he was supposed to be discussing security measures for the following day, forgot he had been confused by Dean's behavior, forgot everything except for the green eyes, wide smile, and that amazing expanse of freckles which belonged to the man he was currently staring at. How long they stared at one another, Castiel had no idea, but eventually someone behind them cleared his throat loudly and they both returned to earth abruptly. 

It was Crowley. "Afternoon boys." 

Castiel watched in dismay as Dean immediately straightened up and that professional mask slid into place. He was really starting to hate Dean's professional look (that was not true, Dean in his formal suit was probably Castiel's favorite late-night picture to recall). 

Crowley had nothing of import to say and Castiel was not at all keen on him just hanging out. Unfortunately it appeared that Crowley had gotten a little fed up with Alastair's behavior himself and was ready for a long chat. Dean stood off to the side for a while, but when it appeared that Crowley wasn't moving on, gave Castiel a small smile and moved on his way. Castiel was 100% sure he had never disliked Crowley more than he did in that moment. 

 

\-------

 

Denver was snowy and bitter and made Dean think fondly of the amazing LA weather they had enjoyed a mere five hours ago. The whole trip had been a whirlwind of activity and meet-and-greets and he couldn't wait to be back in Washington and to the simplicity of Cas' daily activities. Until this trip, Dean hadn't had the chance to really appreciate Cas' desire to maintain a low profile, preferring to leave the public appearances to Crowley as much as he could. Cas was a leader, absolutely there was no denying that. He was not one to back down from a challenge and when he was angry, Dean swore he could see lightning flash in his eyes. But Cas was more in the league of those who rallied the troops and motivated them to give it all for God and country and less in the flash and bang of showy publicity stunts. And, as Dean swayed slightly in place while he scanned the crowd in front of the giant stage, he was sure he had never appreciated that aspect of Cas more. He wasn't entirely sure why Cas had chosen to give a public speech on the last day of their trip, but he had seemed pretty excited about it. There was no real reason why he shouldn't speak here (especially after the "Luc Incident" turned out to be nothing and Dean would really be happier if people would just stop bring that up). And after the way Cas had stared at him yesterday, well, Dean was pretty sure Cas could ask him to hop on board a flight around the world and Dean would do it happily. 

Despite the near negative temperatures, the arena was packed full of people who were obviously excited to hear what Cas was talking about. Not that Dean was particularly listening. Political speeches ran together in his mind after a while. They used words like "fiscal cliff" and "grassroots democracy" and "bipartisanship" and really, what? Dean cared about the state of the union, he really did. Or, at least, he thought he did. Though if you asked him to name five Current Major Political Issues, he would probably (definitely) just laugh and try to change the subject. Which is yet another reason why this crush on Cas was ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous actually. Because Cas knew about all of those things and, what's more, actually cared about them. Especially if the excited way he had spoken about today's speech was any indicator. All Dean cared about at the moment was 90% scanning the crowd repeatedly and 10% letting that deep voice keep him warm. 

"Yo Dean!" That wasn't the deep voice. That was Charlie's voice. And this was not the time. Dean scowled deeper and was rewarded for his troubles with her delighted laughter directly into his ear canal and that was a new level of obnoxious. "You can get married now."

What? His face must have shown his utter confusion because she hemmed and continued on, "Aren't you listening to the dreamy Angel?" Dean refrained from rolling his eyes, but it was a near thing. He was already drawing some concerned glances from the good people of Denver, no need to add to that. 

"He just confirmed the rumor that he was pushing a bill to legalize gay marriage in all 50 states." Dean hadn't known there were any such rumors to be honest. And he didn't really....Dean had a sudden vision of a cabin set back in the woods, his baby parked in the driveway, miles of open space, and him and Cas sitting on the porch swing enjoying a delicious homemade apple pie. And for the first time in Dean's life, he cared very much about a Current Political Issue.

 

\--------

 

Castiel could not believe how quickly the last three months had flown by. One moment he was freezing to death in a Denver arena and the next he was getting a phone call that he had done it. He had officially legalized gay marriage in the United States. And yes, there was still work to do, but right at that moment he couldn't have been happier. Well, perhaps if Dean was standing right there next to him (instead of three steps back and one to the left). However, in the last three months, despite the many agonizing late nights and debates turned verbal sparring with several members of Congress who really ought to keep their backwoods opinions to themselves, there had been a few moments with Dean, mere snatches of time really. Moments that included a shared laugh at the expense of a conceited Senator with a trailing toilet paper issue or their twin looks of exasperation when Crowley would get on a roll and start sharing his experiences as a card shark in Las Vegas. 

Castiel's favorite moments were his early morning runs because he and Dean had started talking during them. Nothing extraordinary or life-shattering really. Just simple observations about life and where they found themselves in it. Through this time Castiel had learned a great deal about his quiet bodyguard, far more even than Dean had actually spoken. Like that Dean was unfailingly loyal, extremely proud of his little brother, and would lay down his life for a cause that he believed in. Every new thing Castiel learned, whether through word or half-smile or shrug made him eager to learn that much more. And there would be time, he was sure of it. He was fifteen minutes from giving his official Legalization press conference and then things would start to die down. And in just a few short weeks, Castiel was headed to England for a tête-à-tête with the Prime Minister and he was planning on extending the trip to do some sight-seeing, with Dean firmly by his side of course. 

The press conference was fairly uneventful. Every major and minor news channel had representation there and after saying a few brief words along the lines of: "This is it. We did it. Thank you for your support." the floor was open to questions. Everyone was rather well-behaved and civil, only a brief moment of rival broadcasters trying to outshout one another and one particularly snippy question about his lack of marriage partner (which, thank you for that reminder random press lady).

As he thanked everyone for their participation, he could hardly believe he had done it. This was his legacy and no one could take it away from him. He smiled in relief as he bid everyone a good morning.

In that same moment, he heard a noise that sounded vaguely like fireworks and he was flat on the ground with someone's full body weight pinning him down. It took him a beat before he realized three things: the sounds were gunshots, they weren't stopping, and someone was shouting at Dean.

 

\--------

 

It was just as Cas was taking the final question that Dean spotted the first one. He was stepping onto the balcony of the building across the street and there was something that looked distinctly weapon-like in his hand. Dean turned his head to alert Benny and spotted the second one. He was in the back of the crowd and there was distinct flash of black and silver in his hand. Which is the moment when the one in the front of the crowd stood up and pointed his semi-automatic at the President, while shouting something that sounded like "Death to Fags!"

Everything after that only ever came back to Dean in flashes.

Running towards Cas only to be shoved to the side by Benny.

The screams of the people. 

Dropping to his knees beside Cas and the sharp relief when he realized Cas was unharmed.

The feel of Benny's blood, slick beneath his hands when he rolled him off Cas.

Shoving Cas at Charlie and Garth while he turned back towards the fray.

Cas grabbing his coat and asking him not to go.

Telling Cas, "It was an honor to serve with you, Mr. President."

Cas' soft, "Dean" which propelled him at a flat-out run after the second gunman. 

The burning in his side when he turned into a dark alley. 

Shots ringing out. Watching the man topple from a fence.

Realizing he was lying face down in a pile of garbage.

Muttering "sonofabitch" when he tried to stand up, but couldn't.

And finally, finally darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from 'Pull Me In' by The Graduate  
> Many thanks to CSJ for her invaluable input and editing work.  
> You guys are seriously the best. Thank you so much for the kind words. I hope this is continuing to live up to your expectations.


	6. Always Back To You

They wouldn't let Castiel see Dean. They wouldn't tell him anything about Dean. They wouldn't even let him move from the 8x10 Emergency Room in the far corner of the White House. Agent Harvelle was standing there next to him, looking shaken, but determined.

"I'm sorry, Mr President. It's not safe right..."

"Safe?!" Castiel couldn't contain his emotions any longer. "Agent Lafitte is dead. De...Agent Winchester is out there. I am absolutely aware that it is not safe. And furthermore, I know you are getting updates and I need to know what is being said."

The agent was looking everywhere but at him. "Sir, listen I..."

"No, you listen to me." Castiel drew himself up to his full height, "I am only going to say this once more. Tell. me. what. is. going. on."

The young woman looked at him for a long moment, searching him, then nodded once to herself as if satisfied and finally, finally spoke, "Dean's been shot. He's been rushed to G. U. Hospital in critical condition."

Castiel felt the air leave him in one rush and he barked a laugh. "Of course he has." He felt himself sway a little and Agent Harvelle caught his arm. 

"Are you alright, sir?" 

"Am I alright? Am I alright? I'm not the one you need to be concerned for."

"With all due respect sir, I believe I do."

Yes, yes, of course she did. That was the point, wasn't it? The point of all this security? The point of having bodyguards 24/7. To keep him safe. To keep him out of danger. But what about the agents? What about them? Did anyone care about them? Or were they dispensable? There to act as a wall and another chunk added when one got blown apart? Castiel vaguely heard another laugh escape his lungs.

"Sir?" the agent sounded concerned and well she might.

Castiel closed his eyes and reached down deep within himself and called upon that reserve, that mask of cool indifference that had helped him get past bullies and homophobic teachers and the entirety of right-wing conservatives. He opened his eyes and leveled Agent Harvelle with a look, "Take me to see Agent Winchester."

"Mr President, I am under orders to keep you here."

"I outrank everyone who has given those orders. Take me the back way. Take me in a private car. Put me in a suitcase. I don't care. Just take me to that hospital."

She studied him for a moment longer. "Mr President...this is none of my business. And I am fully aware of that. But, I need you to know that Dean Winchester is a good man and if you hurt him I will...I will," she paused, searched her mind for a way to non-threateningly threaten the president. "I won't vote for you next election. And I'd do a lot worse if you weren't the president."

For a moment the hint of a smile touched Castiel's face. "You're a good friend, Agent Harvelle. Now take me to the hospital."

"Yes, sir."

It wasn't until they were striding through the halls of the emergency wing that Castiel realized his suit was covered in Agent Lafitte's blood. 

 

\--------

There was bright light coming from somewhere. Really bright light. Like oncoming train bright light. Dean tried to flip over to his stomach and when that didn't work to flop his arm over his eyes. And God. Damn. It hurt. What kind of night did he have last night? Last night he...he had...had...damn it, he got nothing. So what did he know? He knew he was in pain, but the floaty kind of pain that was almost like it was happening to someone else. He knew he was in a bed, not his bed...this was no memory foam. And there was beeping, a lot of it. What else? He tried to screw up his eyes from the spotlight on him, anything to help him concentrate more. There was a pungent smell of disinfectant and the sound of people. There were a lot of people around, close by. He tried to shake his head and oh man, that was a bad idea. That was when he realized he had tubes in his nose...and his arms...and his, oh hell, no! He must have wheezed a bit at that because something was finally, finally blocking the spotlight and he heard his name, repeatedly. 

Oh, Sam. Hello Sam. Why are you here? That's what Dean wanted to say, but nothing was coming out of his mouth. Huh. That was a bit weird, but stranger things had happened. Like waking up in the hospital not knowing why you were there, for example. Sam's voice was very loud. Which would make sense, actually, because he was like freaking Sasquatch. Seriously. That boy had started growing in 10th grade and Dean was pretty sure he had yet to stop. That line of thought was probably not important. Or at least, less important than whatever words were coming out of Gigantor's mouth. Dean worked to tune him in.

"...wanted to say I'm really sorry. I know this is tough on you man."

What was tough? Lying here? Being required to pee in a bag? The notion he was about to be consumed by the sun? Yes, that was indeed tough. But probably not what Sam was talking about. Dean forced himself to tune back in.

"...been here at least once a day. What did you do to him Dean? I didn't know you had it in you? Thought that was a ladies-only trick."

What? That made even less sense. What did Dean do to who? Maybe he'd gotten into a fight last night. At the bar last night, some asshole had probably gotten angry while he was shooting pool with Benny....Benny. Benny. Wait, Benny? That was important. But why? God, why wouldn't that light go away? If it was darker he could probably think better. Think about why Benny...oh.

It came back to him in pieces. Gunshots. Cas! Benny. Running. Pain. Yeah, now he knew why he was here. And it suddenly became really important for him to talk. Benny, Benny was gone. He knew that. Knew it in the deepest part of him. Five years homicide was helpful for things like knowing when someone's dead. But he needed to know. To have someone say it out loud. And Cas! Was he okay? Had it - everything been worth it? 

Dean fought for his voice and finally was able to growl a few syllables that to anyone but Sam would have been unintelligible, but the younger man was instantly alert and reaching for a cup of water with a straw. "Here. Drink this."

He swallowed the water gratefully. It soothed him somewhat, but drawing in a breath was still painful. "Cas. Benny. What?"

"I figured you weren't listening," Sam griped, but it was gentle. "Benny's gone Dean. Died protecting Cas. And Cas is fine. He's been here every day watching over you."

"Every. Day?" Dean coughed out the words.

"Yeah Dean. Every day. Doesn't say a whole lot. Just skulks in the background like he isn't sure if he's supposed to be here. But he sure watches you something fierce. I've never seen anything like it."

The thought of Cas watching over him was both soothing and vaguely terrifying. But there was something else in what Sam was saying that didn't make sense. "How long?"

"Have you been out? Almost two weeks Dean."

Two weeks? But that wasn't right. He'd gotten shot not dropped on his head. And who was watching over Cas? This whole "watching over" thing went both ways. That was Dean's job first. "Tell me everything." 

"Well, you got shot twice. You lost a lot of blood. Plus you hit your head pretty hard on a dumpster. It was touch and go for awhile there. The doctors didn't think you'd make it. They had to put you in a coma to ensure you'd..."

Dean tuned him out for a moment. He didn't need to know all the medical crap. Now that he thought more about it, he guessed his shoulder and his side were throbbing. And his head felt like someone was attacking it with an anvil.

"...new agents." 

"What?!"

"Dean." Ahh, that one was Sam's favorite bitchface. The one that proclaimed he couldn't believe he was saddled with the world's stupidest brother. "I'm trying to explain this to you."

"Hurry up."

"If you weren't already in the hospital..."

"I am."

"Yeah, if you weren't though." This sigh was probably heard somewhere in Mongolia. "They've assigned Agent Henriksen and Agent Mills to Cas' team and promoted Garth to the top."

That was...that was too much. Henriksen and Mills were good agents, no doubt about it, but they didn't know Cas the way Dean did. They didn't know how he liked his coffee or how to keep people away because he was brooding. What if they couldn't keep up and Cas was forced to abandon his early morning runs? And Garth. Well, Dean liked Garth. He really and truly did. But to put a man who thought a sock puppet was an acceptable form of communication in charge of the safety of the President of the United States was clearly not a good idea. And wow, Dean was starting to hyperventilate. He could hear his heart rate monitor jumping all over the place.

"Dean? Dean. It's okay. Cas is fine. He just left yesterday."

"LEFT?" 

"For England?" Sam sounded worried. "He's had this planned for awhile. Talking about the agreement on..."

"Damn it, Sammy. I don't care what they are talking about." His voice hurt like a bitch but this was more important.

"He'll be back in two weeks." 

Dean had a sudden rush of gratitude for his little brother's understanding that was quickly replaced by the realization that it would be another two weeks before he saw Cas again. 

 

\--------

 

Crowley was speaking. And it was important. Or it would have been important in another lifetime. One where Dean Winchester wasn't in the hospital in Washington, D.C. and Castiel wasn't in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere in England drinking tea with people he truly didn't care about. Rewind a month and he would have cared. He would have cared very much indeed. This trip had been important to a version of himself that hadn't had a man sacrifice himself on his behalf. But Agent Lafitte's death had opened Castiel's eyes in a way that nothing else in his life had. For the first time he truly understood the bigger picture. That government was a good thing, but it wasn't the only thing. There were things more important. Things like lending a hand to those in need. Like sharing with someone who had less. Like loving others. Like loving Dean. Sitting on the jet on the way across the Atlantic, Castiel had tried to remember the list of reasons why dating his bodyguard had been a bad idea and absolutely none of them came to mind. 

"Castiel, don't you think that England has the right idea here?"

"Oh yes. Very much so." Castiel hadn't the foggiest notion what he had agreed to and he spared a brief hope that it wasn't something truly terrible. He took a sip of his tea and tried to focus in on the conversation.

"I'll make a deal with you Zachariah, you put that into effect and if it works out, I'll film myself making a formal apology to you and yours." Crowley's voice was grating sometimes, Castiel decided.

But it was nothing like the booming laughter that issued from Zachariah. Castiel had to suppress a full-body shudder. He really had to get out of there.

"If you'll excuse me, gentleman, I'm going to take a look around this charming town." It took all of his effort to paste on a polite smile, but he must have managed because Zachariah clapped him on the back and said something along the lines of "not corrupting the young women" whatever that meant.

The contrast to cooler air was a welcome relief as Castiel exited the pub and made his way down the street. It was beautiful here. Cottages with postage stamp gardens, trailing ivy, and cobblestone sidewalks, but it just made Castiel irrationally angry. The plodding footsteps of Agent Henriksen behind him did nothing to lighten Castiel's mood either. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Dean was supposed to be here. They were supposed to be getting coffee somewhere and sharing a conspiratorial smile. He could just imagine Dean's opinion on Zachariah. The thought made him smile and a young woman sweeping up her porch dropped her broom with a yelp. Castiel gave her a questioning glance and she turned red and fled into the house. He shook it off and continued on down the street.

See, that moment there. That would be something Dean would have enjoyed, probably making a pop culture reference to a movie Castiel had never seen and then shaking his head with a smile when Castiel didn't understand the reference. His pace quickened as he found himself growing frustrated (he took a brief moment to compare Agent Henriksen's increasingly harsh breathing with Dean's ability to keep pace with him on his morning runs). There was a solution to be found somewhere. Something that involved him and Dean alone and far away from the prying eyes of the media (they would have a field day with this, Castiel knew and he just couldn't do that to Dean). He briefly entertained cutting contact with him, letting him move on, but the mere thought caused him such pain he immediately dismissed it. No, whatever this was, whatever bond the two of them had, it was too important to throw away.

Castiel was getting daily updates from the younger Agent Winchester, but it wasn't enough. He needed to see for himself, to make sure the man was still breathing, still with that crooked smile and those freckles. Yes, once he saw him, this would make sense and they would figure it out. He just needed to speak to Dean. And the sooner the better. Perhaps it would be best to cut the trip a little short, it wasn't like he was exactly paying attention; Crowley could finish up the meetings himself. With a new sense of determination, Castiel turned back towards the pub. He was going to see Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Shattered' by O.A.R.  
> CSJ is awesome for looking over what I write and always being super encouraging.  
> I'm sorry this chapter is short. I've been really busy with shtuffs recently and haven't had as much time.   
> Thank You So Much For The Love! I really appreciate it.


	7. Counting Stars

Dean was moping and he knew it. And he really, really didn't care who else knew it. The doctor had spent twenty minutes that morning explaining to him 1) why he was still in the hospital (we still need to monitor your blood pressure), 2) the new diet he was supposed to be following ("you are at risk for early onset heart disease, very high levels of cholesterol"), and 3) the fact that he needed to go through some extensive physical therapy to regain complete movement in his right arm and shoulder. And if all that wasn't bad enough, Agent Barnes had called to inform him that he was to take a six to twelve month sabbatical "to make sure you are in top physical shape and _we are so proud of you_ ". As a result Dean was missing the days when he had the opportunity to take out his rage with a sledgehammer on junkers at the local salvage yard. All he could do was glare at the painfully white ceiling panels and think violent thoughts towards the world and its low-life inhabitants. 

Before too long though, the strain of trying to destroy things with his mind became too great and his thoughts drifted. Ignoring his emotions was Dean's "modus operandi", but hours of sitting on a hospital bed had given him way too much time on his hands. He was constantly plagued by memories of Benny. They had met at hand-to-hand combat training, paired together randomly, and they had fought side by side seamlessly, shocking their instructors. Afterwards they had shaken hands and Benny had invited him out for a beer and then given him all sorts of advice about dealing with career security folks. Honestly, it had scared the shit out of him, but it didn't take Dean very long to realize that underneath the kill-or-be-killed demeanor and the snarkiness, Benny had a big heart and was a genuinely good person. Dean knew without a shadow of a doubt that Benny would have been alright with the circumstances surrounding his death. And this entire train of thought was just depressing. When he got out of here he planned to drink a beer or twelve in Benny's memory, but for now, surely, there were other things to think about. Things that didn't include him suddenly turning into a gigantic sap.

Which led him to Cas. And really, he'd rather not think of that either, but he was pretty sure his brain had forgotten that anything or anyone else even existed. Dean still doubted that Cas had come by _every_ day to see him those first two weeks. Sam was a truthful person, but he was probably over-exaggerating that one. Cas was the freaking President! No way did he have time to come see a lowly Agent. And then there was the whole "disappearing to England" thing. Dean conveniently ignored the fact that the trip had been planned for some time and figured Cas was just glad he was rid of Dean, especially given all the time he had spent staring at the man. God, that was embarrassing to remember. What he needed to do was spend his leave forgetting Cas, drowning his memory in Jack and Jose and a string of women. There was a thought in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like it doubted his ability to ever forget Cas, but Dean did his level best to tune it out. After all, that's what he always did.

 

\-------

 

Castiel strode down the halls of the hospital with Agent Henriksen hot on his heels. The man was speaking something about protocol and visiting hours, but Castiel easily tuned him out. To be fair, the man was a good agent, but he didn't even remotely compare to Dean and Castiel was finding it difficult to like him. 

They rounded a corner and almost ran headlong into Sam and Dean Winchester. There was much apologizing and everyone trying to take responsibility for the collision and Castiel found himself studying Dean for just a moment too long. He watched Dean's eyes spark happiness at him and then darken when Agent Henriksen cleared his throat. 

No one said anything for a long moment, standing awkwardly in the middle of the corridor and trying to avoid eye contact while thinking of something to say and then everyone tried to speak at once. 

It was Dean who was able to outshout everyone else with another cold glance at Agent Henriksen. "Yeah, they are finally letting me off today, but, um, I am on semi-permanent leave."

"Yes, I heard." And Castiel had. That morning to be precise. A clipped message from the Service essentially telling him that the switch in Supervising Agents was permanent. He'd had to restrain himself from punching Agent Henriksen on principle. 

"You did?" Dean fixed him with a long look and Castiel found himself unable to look away. He felt the frustrations and worries of the past few weeks start to drain away as he and Dean stared at one another. It was only the simultaneous throat clearing of Sam and Agent Henriksen that managed to shake Castiel out of his trance.

"Mr. Winchester," he wrenched his attention towards the younger Winchester. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard much about you. I apologize for not introducing myself earlier." He felt the tips of his ears burn at the memory of the long hours he had spent in the background of Dean's hospital room.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. President! I absolutely love your policies and I totally voted for you and I think you are really taking this country in an amazing direction." Castiel noted that Sam looked slightly like a puppy, with his floppy hair and eager-to-please smile.

"Anyway," Dean stressed the word, but there was hint of fond amusement in his voice. "Before my brother asks for your autograph, we should probably get moving. I can't tell you how excited I am to get the hell out of this hospital."

"And we should be going also, Mr. President. You have a meeting at 2."

"Yes, thank you Agent." Castiel kept his tone deliberately frosty. Turning back towards Dean, he added, "Could I walk you out?"

"Yeah, yeah, yes. Of course." Dean flushed red and began to move towards the exit.

Falling into step beside him, Castiel was vaguely surprised how right it felt to have Dean next to him. He heard Sam start up a conversation with Agent Henriksen and decided that he really liked Sam Winchester because he suddenly found he had a very important question to ask Dean. 

"Agent?"

"You can call me Dean...since I'm not really an agent anymore or at least not right now." 

Castiel looked at him in surprise and found Dean looking back with an odd mix of hope and embarrassment written across his face. "Dean. Dean, would you like to have coffee with me?" 

 

\--------

 

It was just a normal Thursday. There was absolutely no reason to panic. Besides the tiny detail that Dean was about to have coffee with the President of the freaking United States of America. He had only changed his outfit five times (still ending up with plaid and jeans because he figured there was no point trying to be someone else), blasted Metallica, had a long talk with Baby about how she would always be his first love, and was now attempting to sit quietly on the bench in front of the tiny coffee shop and concentrate on breathing normally and not sweating profusely. He tried to tell himself that this was just like any other date...except for the part where it was completely different because it was Cas. Dean had had dozens of meaningless drunken encounters with men and women alike until he had met Eliot. Looking back, their relationship based on endless amounts of sex, drinking, and working out was probably unhealthy, but they had put up with each other for two years until the life-changing encounter with Singer and the subsequent move across the country. They had both agreed they were not meant to be a long-term thing and had parted on good terms. Dean had trolled the bars with Benny looking for more casual hook-ups, but the novelty had somehow worn off. I mean, sure, the sex was still awesome, but it felt like there was something missing. And the day Dean had seen Castiel Novak standing in the hallway of the Illinois State Capital, something had clicked into place. It sounded cliché. It totally was cliché. And Dean knew it. And frankly, he couldn't give a shit. He wouldn't exactly mention it to anyone, but when he was around Cas, the idea of settling down and the apple pie life (hopefully complete with some actual pie) sounded pretty damn awesome. And that was quite enough chick-flick moments, thank you very much. 

Dean had chosen the coffee shop, one off the beaten track where there was a much smaller likelihood of attracting the sort of customer who would recognize the President. He'd also called in a favor and Agent Henriksen had to attend to a sudden emergency that afternoon and Garth and Charlie would be in attendance. Dean liked Victor Henriksen well enough, but he wasn't the sort of man who knew the wisdom of keeping one's mouth shut. And right now, Dean needed this whole...meeting...date...thing to go unnoticed by the American public. 

Speaking of which, Cas was striding towards him. And damn did he look good. Dean smiled at Garth and Charlie, but most of his attention was wholly centered on Cas because for once, that was okay. 

"Hello Dean." That gravelly voice sounded like heaven saying his name.

"Hey Cas." Dean watched him closely for a reaction and was pleased to see Cas' smile soften. He pointedly ignored the I-told-you-so look on Charlie's face.

"Would you like to find a table?" Cas gestured to the door.

"Yeah, yeah I would."

 

\--------

 

If there is anything Castiel Novak has learned in the past 18 months it is that conducting a relationship while also being the President of the United States was extraordinarily difficult. Fielding questions about his "budding romance" between foreign policy queries was nerve-wracking on a good day and downright excruciating on days where he and Dean were in the midst of a disagreement. Because sometimes Dean was an emotionally repressed teenager and Castiel was an insufferable know-it-all (yes, they both realized this). But through the good times (the ability to hold hands in public or the amazing sex) or the bad (enduring the ever-increasing rise in hate mail and snide news reports), Castiel knew that he and Dean were the sort of couple that would last. Theirs was a "profound bond" and the combined forces of right-wing conservatives and outspoken bigots could not tear them apart.

Castiel had decided (with more than a little urging from Dean) that he would not try to run for a second term. Dean sort of objected to being the First Man, but more than that, there had been a great deal of speculation about a pre-shooting relationship which, although it obviously could not be verified, did nothing positive for Castiel's chances of reelection. Dean had accepted a position with the Service in Topeka (and since Castiel would definitely not object to being several days drive from his family in Chicago), retiring from public office really wasn't that difficult of a decision. Besides, Castiel would have Dean with him every step of the way.

 

\-------

 

If there is anything Dean Winchester has learned in the past four years it is that being in the Secret Service is nowhere near as awesome as dating the President. Yeah, waking up to that gravelly voice every morning was every bit as awesome as he’d known it would be. And did he mention sex in the Oval Office? Because that totally happened, possibly more than once. Sure, the two of them had had a lot of awkward conversations and a few knock-down drag-out fights, but at the end of the day, Cas was everything Dean hadn't known he was looking for. And God, that was literally the most girly thing he had ever thought. It was totally Cas' influence on him. Dean had discovered that Cas liked showering him with the little romantic gestures and that he liked it even more when Dean would show up to long, boring meetings with a sappy card, a blueberry scone, and expensive imported coffee. 

But today, today at 0800 hours, Fergus Crowley would be sworn in as the 45th President and Cas would be retired. Well, not retired exactly. He had mentioned something about writing a book. But the two of them were headed for Kansas and really, that was a hell of a lot more than Dean could ever have hoped to have asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the OneRepublic song by the same name  
> As always, CSJ is the best! Because no one else would listen to me rant and rave and whine and still put up with me. :)  
> This chapter would never have gotten written without my lovely Tumblr angel who recommended listening to TSwift & helped me remember how to write fluff.  
> And to you, my fine readership, you guys rock. Thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement.


	8. Epilogue

~FIFTEEN YEARS LATER~

 

It is September and the wind is just starting to hint of an oncoming fall, but for the time being the days are long and the nights are comfortable. The sun is just beginning to set behind the hills that overlook a small cabin. It is set off the beaten track surrounded on all sides by acres of deeply wooded forest. There are smaller outbuildings, a beautiful old barn, and a well-stocked garden. There are two cars parked in the driveway, a sleek black model and a smaller white one. 

If you had the ability to look a little closer at the porch, you would see two men holding hands on a porch swing. You would notice the shorter man rest his head on the shoulder of the other who is looking down at him with an expression of adoration. There is just the hint of grey in both men's hair and their faces appear a little worn. There is an empty pie pan and a peacefully slumbering hound on the floor by their feet. The dark haired man holds a small silver kitten in his lap. 

If you could get close enough, you could hear a quiet exchange.

"Is everything alright, Dean?"

"Yeah, everything's perfect, Cas."

And really, that's all you need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finished! I hope you guys like it! I appreciate each and every one of you! :)


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